There is nothing like a bout of insomnia lasting three consecutive nights or so to strip the psyche of faith. Or perhaps what I call faith is illusion, and it is the illusory projections of future joy, happiness and satisfaction that are purified. All well and good. I need to discover whether I can experience beauty in the midst of this zombie-like drift among very-present shadows. If beauty can be discerned, then perhaps the other stuff is an illusion and good riddance.